Small Packages

[Forte!]

Rory didn't say a word as, one after the other, Dorothy May's parents left her again. He was shaking with anger, his vision clouded, his speech would have been unrational and stupid had he opened his mouth. After they left the rage redoubled. How could Vivian just walk out again? He didn't realize, not then, that he hadn't given her much of a choice. He paced for a moment, and then suddenly stopped, the reality of the situation crashing down on him hard, an almost tangible force. The child, still balanced against his elbow, struggled and made small, sad noises. She did not know what had occured, only that again she was alone, and also that she was being jostled rather roughly along. Her presence did something to console Rory, and he sat down again on the couch, still lost for words, unable to say anything that would help. A petrified look came over his face as he realized the true severity of the situation he had just dived headfirst into, dragging Roxy and poor, innocent littly Dorothy May along with him. He looked like a deer caught in the headlights, an owl who flies by day.

He probably would have continued to be frozen there, except for the fact that Dorothy was struggling in his arms. His cheek stung, and a red tone had emerged where Vivian had slapped him. He looked up at Roxy, placing Dorothy gently on the floor, where she, too, looked helpless. "What are we going to do?" he asked quietly, more calmly than could be expected. The gravity of his words came back upon him, and for a moment he looked sheerly terrified. "Oh, jeez, Roxy. What are we going to do?" His face flushed, the very color draining out. He didn't know what was going to happen now. Roxy and himself could not very well take care of an infant, not with her situation the way it was and his arm broken, and with both of their ranches to consider. Emotions were queing up one by one in his brain, and he looked totally at a loss. Finally, guilt pushed its way to the forefront, and he sat back, frowning heavily, looking as if storm clouds had descended upon his brow. "Oh, Roxy... I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry for getting you into this mess. I haven't kept my promise very well, have I?"

So saying, he fell back into silence, picking Dorothy May back up to comfort her as best he could. She was too lost and afraid to even cry, and the look on her face was heartbreaking. A memory vaguely bubbled up in Rory's mind, a fond one, but a sad one, as well. He must have been very small, and unable to sleep, and his mother had been doing his best to console him. Fragments of verse fell to the forefront of his brain, and, unable to do much else, he held Dorothy may to his chest with his head close to hers, whispering a little song, long forgotten, in her ear. "Zoon, zoon, cuddle and croon... over the crinkling sea." The child calmed, although not much, for she was distraught and she didn't know the people around her, or where she was, or why. The ring of the phone interrupted Rory's reverie, and he looked up, his eyes ringed with red as if he'd been crying, although he hadn't, not really, at least. The worry lines on his brow furrowed again as he wondered what was going on now.