He finally leaned back.
The last thing he saw before closing his eyes was the pair of pink socks on the table.
He slept forty-three minutes.
When he woke, morning light had begun to push gray through the blinds.
Anna was resting.
The baby lay in the bassinet beside the bed.
Caleb sat up quietly.
For a moment he simply watched her.
Then the baby’s face tightened and a small cry escaped.
Caleb stood so quickly the recliner snapped upright behind him.
Anna opened one eye.
“Your turn.”
Caleb stared at her.
“My turn for what?”
“Pick up your daughter.”
He looked at the bassinet as if Anna had told him to disarm an explosive.
“Right now?”
“Ideally before she graduates high school.”
Caleb rubbed his hands on his jeans.
“She’s tiny.”
“I noticed.”
He slid one hand beneath the baby’s head and the other under her body exactly the way the nurse had shown him earlier.
Every muscle in his shoulders locked.
“Relax,” Anna said.
“I am relaxed.”
“You look like you’re carrying nitroglycerin.”
“Nitroglycerin doesn’t have a soft spot in its skull.”
But he lifted the baby.
She fussed once against his chest.
Caleb looked terrified.
Then he spoke.
“Easy, little girl.
Dad’s got you.”
The crying stopped.
Not slowly.
Stopped.
Anna’s eyes opened fully.
Caleb stared down.
The baby’s cheek rested against the black T-shirt beneath his open vest.
One tiny fist remained curled near his collarbone.
Caleb whispered, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Anna smiled from the bed.
“Told you.”
He stood there for a long time.
The sun rose higher.
Hospital staff came and went.
A pediatrician checked the baby.
A nurse showed Caleb how to support her neck again even though he listened like the instructions were military orders.
Anna ate breakfast.
Caleb finally drank water instead of coffee.
Around eight, his phone began vibrating repeatedly.
Messages from the Red River Saints filled the screen.
HOME?
YOU MAKE IT?
HOW’S ANNA?
HOW’S THE KID?
