Mad About You

porcelain sink and antique faucet. "This place has character."
    She smiled. "All the old houses do."
    "Can I get a tour?"
    She hesitated, but he was already unfolding himself to explore. She went from room to room, her pride growing as she illuminated a dining room, living room, and small library accented sparingly with lustrous antiques and plush fabrics. She couldn't help but compare her hand-picked treasures to the blue-light specials they'd lived on in the aged farmhouse. But they'd been happy... for a while....
    Slowly they circled the first floor, making their way back to the entry hall. He paused before the staircase and asked, "Are the bedrooms upstairs?"
    Virginia nodded, but made no move toward the second floor.
    Bailey shifted his weight to his other foot. "Do you have a room for Bailey, Jr.?"
    "Well, my guest room isn't exactly a boy's dream, but I guess it'll do for now."
    "Oh?" Bailey's eyebrows shot up. "Are you planning to move?"
    "No. I meant the room will do until I can redecorate it for him." She experienced a niggling of awareness, a dawning of the implications of discussing bedrooms with her handsome ex-husband. In the next instant she discarded the thought. He simply wanted to know where his son would be sleeping, that's all.
    "Maybe I can do something to help," he offered. "Build some bookshelves or something?"
    She nodded, the silent seconds stretching into a cavernous minute. Clearing her throat, she asked, "Want to take a look?"
    "Sure."
    She gripped the banister tightly, her feet automatically landing on the spots where the floorboards did not creak or complain as she climbed. At the top of the stairs she turned left and led him to a small bedroom draped with pink and cream curtains, and a comforter, complete with lacy pillows. Bailey winced.
    "I know," she said in an apologetic voice. "But it'll suffice."
    "He could stay with me—"
    "No!" At his startled glance, Virginia amended hurriedly, "I mean, no, there couldn't be room at your place."
    His frown confirmed her statement, then he offered a halfhearted grin. "But I do have a nice, plain brown couch that sleeps pretty good. Do you work at home?" he asked, effectively tabling the issue of his living accommodations. He pointed into the room across the hall. A desk and computer workstation dominated the shadowed room.
    "Sometimes." She walked over and switched on the office light.
    Following, he peered in. "Nice setup." Something caught his eye, and Virginia's heart vaulted when he entered the room and picked up a framed photograph from a credenza. He smoothed a finger across the glass. "I remember taking this picture," he said, his voice scratchy.
    Virginia blinked rapidly. She didn't have to see it—she'd memorized every detail in the photo of her holding Bailey, Jr., in her arms outside the hospital, just before they'd driven him home. She'd worn a loose yellow jump suit, and he'd been bundled in pale blue. Her heart had been full to bursting. But even more vivid than her emotions on that day had been the splitting grin of happiness on Bailey's face as he adjusted the camera lens. Smile. Wave to Daddy. Smile, Mommy.
    "Did you keep other pictures?" he asked, his voice stronger.
    She hesitated, then walked to a closet in the converted bedroom and withdrew a large photo album. Carefully, she wiped and blew the dust from the cover, its faded golden letters proclaiming "Our Son." With trembling hands she opened the album, vaguely aware that Bailey stood just behind her, looking over her shoulder.
    Memories slammed into her, leaving her shaken, but with fewer tears than the last few hundred times she'd thumbed through the pages. A younger, smiling Bailey feeding the baby a bottle, giving him a bath, changing his diaper—breaking all the macho-daddy rules. How long had it been since she'd tortured herself with the faded pictures of her infant son, so beautiful and trusting?
    From the pages, a sheet of folded paper escaped, floating to the floor. As Bailey bent to retrieve it, Virginia realized with a nervous jolt it was the letter he'd sent her two years before. She remembered now... that night had been the last time she'd looked through the baby album.
    Her heart thumped against her chest at the implication of her keeping the letter. Bailey retrieved the sheet, straightening as he unfolded it, his face transforming from confusion to... something... when he recognized what he held in his hand. His gaze met hers, and long-slumbering emotions