Elliot crouched down beside my daughter, peering at her as she windmilled her arms and kicked her feet. He hadn’t said anything, so maybe the sight of my gorgeous daughter had blinded him to the wreckage surrounding her.
“Hello, Josephine,” he said softly. “Fancy seeing you here.”
I moved around them so I could see what he was doing. She clutched his index finger in her little fist, and he didn’t seem in a hurry to rip his hand away from her. Joey was a curious little creature, but she was gazing up at Elliot, her eyes wider than I’d ever seen them.
“She doesn’t see many people,” I explained. “You’re like a shiny new toy.”
“That’s understandable. Everything’s brand new for her.” He glanced at me. “She has an impressive grip for such a small person.”
“Everything she does is impressive.”
His brow winged. “Aren’t you a little biased?”
“More than a little.”
His mouth hitched at the corner. “Fair enough.” He jerked his chin. “Go find the schematics.”
I hesitated to leave them alone. I’d have to go upstairs and wouldn’t be able to see them.
His head tilted. “You can leave her with me. I’m not going to steal her. What would I do with a baby?”
“I—” I had nothing. There was no reason not to trust that Elliot wouldn’t abscond with Joey, and if she cried, I’d hear her. Besides, she was happy as a clam, and he didn’t seem to mind hanging out with her. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”
“No need to rush,” he called as I raced up the stairs.
Oh, I’d be rushing. The longest I’d spent away from Joey was when we were both asleep and Raymond stole her on our handful of coffee dates. I also couldn’t imagine Elliot would know what to do if she started to cry. Granted, it was rare. She was generally a cheerful kind of gal unless she got hangry.
In my haste, I forgot I’d taken my shoes off while sitting on the blankets with Joey. I wasn’t a shoes-in-the-house kind of person. In this house, though, I’d become one since all my floors were basically raw wood.
My bare foot came into contact with a sharp shard of wood, slicing through my skin like butter. The immediate pain took my breath away. It was the only reason I didn’t howl like a dying wolf.
“Shit, motherclucking clucker.” I hobbled down the hall to the bathroom and collapsed on the side of the tub to examine the damage.
Blood seeped from the sole of my foot, and I could have wept. This was adding insult to injury. Too much on top of the mountains I was buried under. Why hadn’t I taken the time to put on my flip-flops?
I cleaned my foot with a washcloth. It hadn’t stopped bleeding, but I didn’t think I’d need stitches. A pile of bandages would do.
I opened the medicine cabinet, managing to only find a small one meant for a paper cut—not a stabbing.
“Why?” I hit the hollow box against my forehead and groaned. “Why, why, why?”
What kind of mother didn’t have Band-Aids? Not that Joey would ever get hurt, but I should have been prepared for everything. I was useless. Poor thing had been born to a mom who couldn’t even patch herself up. Hell, I couldn’t even provide my baby with real floors.
If it weren’t for Joey, I would have curled up on the floor and given up for a while. God, that sounded enticing. Getting up from the side of the tub seemed much too big right now, but I had to. My boss was downstairs, expecting me to be a functioning human being even though I was hanging on by a fraying thread.
Sucking it up, I slapped on the tiny bandage, then wrapped my foot in toilet paper and carefully slipped on a sock to keep it all in place.
My first step made me hiss with pain, but I kept going. If I stopped, I might not have been able to convince myself to start again. The very last thing I needed was Elliot discovering me slumped in my hallway, bleeding out from a flesh wound.
It took me a considerable amount of time, but finally, my brain came back online. The schematics were in my workbag. I’d taken them home the night before I’d gone into labor and had completely forgotten about them. It made sense they would be there, which was why I’d checked every other place first.
I hobbled downstairs slowly, crossing my fingers the makeshift bandage would stay in place. The sounds of the music from Joey’s play mat drifted up from the living room, but it was otherwise silent.
A kernel of panic took root in my chest. Joey might not have cried a lot, but she made noises. Where were her noises?