I WISH THAT I COULD TELL YOU

Chapter 12 - in which the air pulsated, thick and sweet like molasses

The days took on a new shape. Shawn now shared parenting duties with Camila, which was how it should be. There were no hard and fast rules, they just did what seemed the most practical. He could see she was enjoying feeding Max, and although she complained about his dirty diapers, she did so while smiling, even laughing. The first time she laughed he thought he was going to cry, but now she laughed all the time, at Max's silly little faces and his gurgling. She cried, too. Tears of joy now, when her son patted her breast with his tiny hand to make the milk come down, when he sucked on her face or neck, his version of kisses, or clung to her tightly. She cried at Lita's dance concert rehearsal, and when they took her to be fitted for her costume. She cried in her mother's arms while they watched "The Notebook", but she didn't cry with Shawn. Their relationship was moving much slower than her relationship with the children or her parents and sister.

Each night they would go to bed, she would wear her man-style pyjamas as if they were armour and curl up with her back to him on her edge of the bed. Sometime in the night she would roll over and they would embrace, or spoon, and she would happily stay there until she woke to feed Max, or go to the bathroom. They never spoke of it, but they did begin to chat before sleeping, discussing the children, current events, friends and family, even the music industry. Never ever themselves, that was taboo.

He had begun working in the little studio, writing, playing, creating. He had returned to his daily vocal lessons, and practiced his guitar every day now. The songs were sad, and then hopeful. They told the progressive story of his life right now. It was about two weeks since Camila had taken those steps to leave her post-partum depression behind. He had left her in the garden where she was meditating, Max in a carry cot beside her. Her face had some colour again, and she'd been eating well. Now she had regained her appetite, he had made sure she had plenty of healthy food, and her colour was much better, the angles of her body softened. She had been walking, using the gym, swimming and doing yoga. A lot of her strength had returned, her back pain almost gone. She had to fight it sometimes, but he would encourage her on those days when she didn't want to get up, when it looked like she had reached her limit. He would tell Lita to go cuddle her, and he'd put on "Tangled", and put Max in her arms and the peace would return again.

But she still wouldn't touch him, except for the secret moments in the middle of the night when they would hold each other, and they didn't count. They didn't talk about them, they were never mentioned, and they were just holding and nothing more. And she had yet to show any interest in music or even dancing. Roger had been ringing him for updates since Max had been born. Camila wouldn't even take his calls. In their fandoms, on social media and in the press, rumours and conspiracy theories were rife, but until Camila was in the right frame of mind, there would be no statements. He would take no risks that might result in her backsliding after she had worked so hard to get here.

He was deep into a song he was working on, his headphones on, playing electric guitar, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. He turned to see her standing staring at the keyboard. Max would be down for a nap now, Sinu and Alejandro were picking up Lita from school today, then were taking her for ice-cream on the way home. She had placed the baby monitor on the chair in case Max awoke and now she reached out a hand and pressed a couple of the keys, then moved on to the guitars that hung on the wall. She gingerly caressed her acoustic guitar. He took off his headphones.

"Do you want me to get that down for you?" he asked.

She pulled her hand back as if bitten, shaking her head, looking a little afraid. He didn't want to push her, but maybe a little encouragement.....?

"Come listen to this, I'm not sure about this bridge..."

She walked over to him slowly and took the headphones from his outstretched hand, putting them on unsurely. When they were on she nodded and he played the music. She closed her eyes and listened and then gave him a hand signal to play it again. In the chorus she began to hum then vocalise a simple melody. Despite not having sung for months, her voice was clear and true and it sliced into him like a knife into butter. When it came to the bridge again she signalled him to pause.