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I’d dyed my own hair enough times to recognize exactly what it was.
I was frozen, staring at it in confusion. Bewildered and perplexed. Though something more consequential nagged at the back of my mind.
“Is your…hair dyed?” The question cracked.
“Oh, yep! My Daddy-O made my hair all better a couple days ago, and that always happens and gets my water all dirty, but don’t worry, Miss Charleigh, after one more bath, it’s all gone and then I’ll be all clean again.”
He smacked his hands against the surface of the water, sending droplets splattering onto my shirt and arms.
“Your dad…dyes your hair?” I pushed out on a whisper. The words were laden, as if the disorientation made it difficult to speak.
“He says he likes it really, really dark so itcan be just like his, and that’s good because I really want to look like him and not Santa Claus like you thought.”
He cracked up like it was hysterical while the walls spun around me.
I didn’t know why it unsettled me so profoundly. Why I was shaking as I rinsed the shampoo out and repeated the process with the conditioner. Why disquiet gathered from the edges of my being, whirling together to become a gnarl of apprehension.
Woodenly, I helped him wash then rinse, then I undid the drain stopper and wrapped him in a towel. He prattled on as he brushed his teeth and hair, still going on about his favorite friends as he dashed into his room and pulled on a fresh pair of pajamas.
He read me another book while I just stared at him. Stared and stared at him through the disorder that billowed and blew through my consciousness. And when he flopped onto his back for me to tuck him in, I lifted his left arm and ran my fingertips over the birthmark on the inner side.
A tidal wave of memories crashed through me.
Nolan giggled. “That’s my love mark.”
“Love mark?” My voice was haggard.
“Yep. My dad said he thinks I probably got it from my mom because it’s almost like a heart, and he bet she loved me a whole, whole lot.”
That disorder surged, and I couldn’t make sense of what I was feeling. The chaos that battered my insides.
I was going insane. Conjuring ideas that I couldn’t afford to conjure. Still, my insides quaked and my spirit shivered.
I pulled his covers to his chin, and he squirmed beneath them. “Do it like my dad does it,” he said through his sweet voice.
I tucked the covers under his little body while my pulse thundered through my veins.
“How’s that?”
“Perfect!” he shrieked, then he threw his arms out and squeezed them around my neck. “I love you the most just like I love my dad!”
“I love you, too.” It was a breath. A whisper, and I finally stoodand moved across his room, looking back at the child where he snuggled on his bed.
His heart beating. Blood running through his veins.
Finally, I forced myself to flip off his light. I moved to River’s room, changed into sleep shorts and a tee, and slipped under the cold sheets.
I tried to find sleep, but I couldn’t rest. Couldn’t stop the dangerous idea that had sprouted roots in my heart and mind.
I squeezed my eyes closed. I had to be being…paranoid. Grasping at straws. Imagining things that weren’t there. My heart trying to convince me of something that was impossible.
But still, I couldn’t let it go when River finally slipped into the room in the middle of the night. He crawled in behind me and pulled me into his arms, his big body a thousand degrees as it burned into the chill that had taken me hostage.
I wanted to turn to him and demand answers.
Scream.
Plead.
