he worries that "she settles better for you" is a crutch, but he says nothing, scooping his harlowe-eyed mini me into his arms with a smile, kissing both her and her mother on the forehead.
ii.
he pretends to lose his toothbrush, using it as an excuse to shuffle through her luggage. she doesn't want to be like either of their mothers, but he thinks one option they could live through.
iii.
on the balcony of their hotel room, he pats her back as she begins to fall asleep, harlowe mid-phone call in the other room. he rests his cheek against aubrey's head and she wriggles against his chest, getting more comfortable. "remember the rule," he says, voice a whisper, "no crying for mummy."
iv.
he knows what napping means. it means sad and that he is making it worse. not helping. of the people that make him happy, the events that he looks on fondly, nothing tops getting high -- not marriage, not holding aubrey for the first time. it's unfair that they've had these things taken from them because they chased too much pleasure, but trying to be good is what matters. if you're wrong, you're wrong, as long as you try. he forgets instead.
v.
he feels happy, like a double dose of espresso has pulled him from sleep, extra energy to put to good use. his laughter is larger, his grins wider. this is accomplishment. the sharp edges that betray his descent back into his addiction are absent. "we sign the papers for our island soon," he tells clive, and the first frown he receives seems not to disturb him.