Out of My League
She smiled when she saw me in the rocking chair, still with a book open.
“Your turn?” I queried.
She nodded and crossed the room to trade babies, hands fluent in movement and accustomed to the tasks. I pushed myself out of the rocker as she nestled into her place, Leo now in my arms, her body warm and relaxed against my shoulder.
She reached for a different book, The Polar Express, and as she opened it, something about her entire bearing seemed to soften. She didn’t read it like a story. She sang it like a secret. Her voice undulated and meandered, encasing each syllable with a sense of awe. And when she got to the line about believing, she stopped, just briefly, as if that part had more wei
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