Page 29 of The Condemned (Echoes from the Past #6)
TWENTY-ONE
London, England
The snow came down in thick, heavy flakes, blanketing London in a pristine quilt of white and giving it a storybook appearance.
Quinn pushed aside the net curtain and stared out the window, Alex in her arms. He watched the snow coming down with complete absorption, his eyes round with wonder as he held out a splayed hand, thinking he could catch the snowflakes.
“Snow,” Quinn said to him. “Snow.” Alex cooed happily, and Quinn kissed the top of his dark head.
He had that intoxicating baby smell and her heart flooded with love…
and guilt. When she’d gone to the shop yesterday, she’d purchased baby formula and infant cereal.
She hadn’t given it to Alex yet, but she would today.
She’d planned to nurse Alex until he was at least six months old, but the past two weeks had been a challenge.
Her milk had become less plentiful, something that had become obvious to her when she pumped, and Alex seemed dissatisfied and fussy when he finished nursing.
“I think he’s still hungry,” Quinn had said to Gabe after she’d nursed Alex last night. “I don’t think he’s getting enough. Sylvia said supplementing the milk with cereal will make him feel fuller.”
“Perhaps she’s right.”
“I just want to do what’s best for the baby.”
“What about what’s best for you? You’re struggling, mentally and physically. You wince every time Alex latches on.”
“My nipples are sore,” Quinn confessed. “He’s starting to teethe, and his gums are firmer.
That boy has a death grip when he’s hungry.
I’m going to call the clinic and speak to his pediatrician.
If he says it’s all right, I will start Alex on solids and supplement my milk with store-bought formula. ”
“I think that makes perfect sense,” Gabe agreed.
Quinn was grateful for Gabe’s support, but she still felt as if she were failing her son.
Some women nursed until the child was as old as eighteen months, while she’d only managed four.
But there were other issues. Perhaps it was the stress of discovering that Jo was somewhere in Afghanistan, or the helplessness of only being able to stand idly by while Rhys went off to Kabul, putting himself in danger for her benefit.
She had no illusions about Rhys’s motives.
He wasn’t there for Jo, he was there for Quinn.
She should have refused, should have dismissed his offer as soon as it had been made, but she simply couldn’t bring herself to pass up the chance to find her sister.
And now everyone was on edge. Logan sent daily texts, asking if there was any news from Rhys, and Sylvia had phoned twice over the past few days.
Her parents, her cousin Jill, and even Drew Camden, whom Quinn and Logan had hired to find Jo, called to check in.
Their concern only made her more anxious.
She was so desperate to find Jo, she’d allowed Rhys to go into a war zone, and if anything happened to him, it’d be her fault.
As she told Gabe, Rhys had a hard shell, but inside he was soft and sensitive.
“You make him sound like a boiled egg,” Gabe said. He tried to use humor to lift her out of her black mood, but she felt off-balance, weepy and depressed. Perhaps her current mood was to blame for the lack of milk.
Quinn turned from the window and walked into the lounge, where she set Alex down on his play mat.
She’d been able to leave him there while she prepared dinner or packed a few boxes of kitchen utensils and dishes they didn’t use on a daily basis, but Alex had recently learned to turn over, and when Quinn had returned to the lounge several days ago after peeling some potatoes, she’d cried out in alarm when Alex wasn’t on his mat.
She’d looked around in panic, finally spotting him by the sofa, where he’d rolled all on his own.
Alex was full of glee, but Quinn had scooped him up and held him close, having had her first real brush with maternal panic.
“You little rascal,” she’d whispered. “You gave Mummy such a fright.” But Alex felt no remorse. He kept trying to pull away from Quinn, eager to get back to the floor, where he could practice his new skill.
“How does he roll so fast?” Emma asked, watching in amazement. “He’s like a little round ball.”
“It’s a good thing we’re moving,” Gabe observed as he rescued the baby from rolling under the low coffee table. “There’s no room for him to spread his wings.”
“He doesn’t have wings,” Emma protested.
“They are not literal wings, Emma, but figurative.”
“What?”
“I meant that he’ll need more space and freedom as he gets older. He’ll start crawling in a few months, and then will take his first steps. This is not a safe environment for him.”
Emma pondered this information. “Did I roll like Alex?” she finally asked.
They were used to her questions, but the lack of information still bothered them both.
They knew very little of Emma’s first four years and there was no one to ask.
Gabe had taken to simply telling her what she wanted to hear, not wishing to remind her day after day that he hadn’t been a part of her life until her mother died in that motor accident.
“Of course, you did, only you weren’t nearly as round as Alex. You were a tiny baby.”
“Didn’t I like to eat? I like to eat now. ”
“Well, since you couldn’t have any pizza or ice cream when you were this small, I expect you weren’t as pleased with your choices,” Quinn interjected.
“I don’t like milk,” Emma replied.
“All babies drink milk. It’s their first food,” Quinn explained.
“When will Alex start eating real things?” Emma demanded.
Quinn was glad to see her finally taking an interest in her little brother, her jealousy receding now that she’d had an opportunity to choose her bedroom in the new house and settle on a color scheme.
“I will start mixing a little cereal into his milk once he turns four months. Once his belly gets accustomed to the cereal, he’ll be ready to try some mushed vegetables and stewed fruit.”
“Yuck!” Emma made a face. “I’m glad I’m no longer a baby, but I’d like to try new things. Maya says I should be more open to new experiences.”
“Then perhaps you should tidy up your room. That would be a new experience for you,” Gabe replied smoothly as he tried to suppress a grin.
“Dad! I meant I wanted to try new foods.”
“Really? Such as?” Gabe asked.
“Maya says her family has international night every Friday. They eat a different cousin every week.”
“Don’t they like their cousins?” Gabe asked, teasing her. “I think you mean cuisine, darling.”
“Yes, whatever. You know what I mean. Maya said they had sushi last Friday. ”
Gabe and Quinn exchanged glances. Emma liked only certain types of foods, and her pediatrician had advised them not to force the issue.
“It’s a form of control. She’s lost her mother and had to deal with drastic changes, including a new baby in the house.
Limiting what she eats allows her to feel a sense of control over her environment. ”
“All right, then. Friday night is sushi night,” Gabe announced dramatically. “Ready or not, Emma McAllister Russell, you’ll be eating raw fish come Friday.”
“Eww,” Emma cried. “Sushi is raw fish?”
“It certainly is,” Gabe replied.
“Can we start with something less icky?” Emma asked.
“Of course. What shall we have?”
“How about kebobs?”
“Done,” Gabe exclaimed.
“Where do kebobs come from?” Emma asked.
“From places like Iran and Afghanistan,” Gabe replied. He glanced at Quinn, his gaze apologetic. “Sorry, I?—”
Quinn waved the apology away. “You’re all right.”
But despite her cavalier attitude, she felt a knot of anxiety settling in the pit of her stomach.
Rhys still hadn’t called after being gone nearly a week.
What if he had gone missing too? She knew she was being irrational, and the mere mention of the place was no reason to get upset, but her mind seemed to be on a track of its own.
Quinn handed Alex to Gabe and dashed to the bathroom, making it just in time. This was the second time this week she’d been sick. She rinsed out her mouth and pressed her forehead to the cool tiles of the bathroom wall, breathing deeply to prevent a second wave of nausea .
“Quinn, are you all right?” Gabe called through the door.
“Fine,” Quinn replied, but she felt anything but.