I wish it was that easy, I really do. There's so many things left unfinished, and there's things that have to be followed up on, and all I want is to shut the door on the whole thing. I'm half-convinced what happened to Caro is my fault for being more here than there - I have to stop that. We have to close this down completely, bring Eckerson up to speed, get La Fantasma, or whoever, and then...then I have to think long and hard about this.
I only got up because I heard Isabel moving around in her crib, and there she is. She's so small, still. In a few days, a week, she'll be three months old, and this is about the time we were expecting her. That day - that day was one of the worst of my life, when I thought they were both gone. Then, afterwards, when Millie was sick, and I spent so much time with Isa; maybe I do get nervous going out without her. Maybe...it doesn't matter. She's mine - ours. Isabel will never doubt that she's wanted. I know what that's like, and never, for an instant, is she going to feel that.
Mike picks up the fussing Isabel, settling into the rocker with her next to his chest. Pressed to the familiar heartbeat, her whimpers quiet.
He speaks to her quietly about Colombia, her Nana's home country, the green mountains, the white sands, and the rainbow markets. She stares at his face instead of the bright doll he dangles for her, the blue silk scarf, or the necklace of green stones.
"And there's a museum there all of gold," he tells her, even though she neither understand nor cares, "all kinds of treasures, my wee one, but nothing like the one your Daddy left here."
Her only answer is a soft coo, and he rocks her as it rains, letting the music from the other room filter through the early morning.
I hear the drizzle of the rain
Like a memory it falls
Soft and warm continuing
Tapping on my roof and walls
And from the shelter of my mind
Through the window of my eyes
I gaze beyond the rain-drenched streets
To England where my heart lies
My mind's distracted and diffused
My thoughts are many miles away
They lie with you when you're asleep
And kiss you when you start your day
And a song I was writing is left undone
I don't know why I spend my time
Writing songs I can't believe
With words that tear and strain to rhyme
And so you see I have come to doubt
All that I once held as true
I stand alone without beliefs
The only truth I know is you
And as I watch the drops of rain
Weave their weary paths and die
I know that I am like the rain
There but for the grace of you go I.
p. simon "Kathy's Song"