epilogue
“GIVE HER SOME medicine!” Gavin yells at the nurse. He’s pacing back and forth. Beads of sweat have pooled on his forehead and he lifts a hand to wipe them away. “Look at her! She’s in pain, just look at her! Give her something!” His face is pale and he’s gesturing toward the hospital bed. Eddie rolls her eyes and stands up, taking Gavin by the shoulders and shoving him toward the door.
“Sorry, Will. You would think he would take it better since I’m not the one in labor this time. If I don’t get him out of here he’ll pass out like he did when Katie was born.”
I nod, but can’t find it in me to laugh. Seeing Lake on that bed in as much pain as she’s in has me feeling completely helpless. She’s refusing medicine, but I’m about to go grab a damn needle and give her some myself.
I walk to the head of her bed and as soon as the contraction passes, the tension eases slightly from her face and she looks up at me. I take the wet rag and press it against her cheek to cool her off. “Water. I want water,” she grumbles.
This is the tenth time she’s asked for water in the past hour, and the tenth time I’ll have to tell her no. I don’t want to see the anger in her face again, so I just lie. “I’ll go ask the nurse.” I quickly walk out of the room and take a few steps past the doorway, then collapse against the wall with no intention of looking for a nurse. I slide to the floor and drop my face into my hands and try to focus on the fact that this is really happening. Any minute now, I’ll become a dad.
I don’t think I’m ready for this.
At least if Kel and Caulder turn out horrible, we can still blame mine and Lake’s parents. This is a completely different ballgame. This baby is our responsibility.
Oh, God.
“Hey.” Kel drops down beside me and kicks his legs out in front of him. “How is she?”
“Mean,” I answer truthfully.
He laughs.
It’s been three years since Lake and I married, and three years since Kel moved in with me. I know that technically I’m becoming a dad for the first time today, and in so many ways it’s so different, but I can’t imagine loving Kel any more if he really were my own. I can honestly say when my parents died, I felt cursed that my life had to change course like it did. But now, looking back, I know I’ve been blessed. I couldn’t imagine things any differently.
“So,” Kel says. He pulls his leg up and ties his shoe, then straightens it back out again. “My mom? She left me something I’m supposed to give to you today.”
I glance at him and, without having to ask, know immediately what it is. I hold out my hand and he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a star. “It was in one of the gifts she left me for my birthday last year, along with a note. In fact, she left eight of them. One for each kid y’all might have. Four blue ones and four pink ones.”
I fist the star in my palm and laugh. “Eight?”
“Yeah, I know,” he shrugs. “I guess she wanted to be covered, just in case. And they were all numbered, so that one goes with this kid.”
I smile and look down at the star in my hand. “Is it for Lake too? I don’t know if she’s in the mood for this right now.”
Kel shakes his head. “Nope. Just for you. Lake got her own.” He pushes himself up off the floor. He pauses after taking a few steps back toward the waiting room, then he turns around and looks down at me. “My mom thought of everything, didn’t she?”
I smile, thinking of all the advice I’m still somehow getting from Julia. “She sure did.”
Kel smiles and turns away. I open the star; one of many that I incorrectly assumed would be the last.
Will,
Thank you for taking on the role of father to my little boy.
Thank you for loving my daughter as much as I love her.
But most of all, thank you in advance for being the best father I could ever hope for a grandchild of mine to have. Because I know without a doubt that you will be.
Congratulations,
Julia
I STARE AT the star in my hands, wondering how in the world she could be thanking me when they’re the ones who changed my life. Her whole family changed my life.
I guess in a way, we all changed each other’s lives.
“Will,” Lake yells from inside the room. I quickly stand up and put the star in my pocket. I walk back into the room and over to the bed. Her jaw is clenched tight and she’s gripping the handrail so hard, her knuckles are white. She reaches up with one hand and grabs my shirt, then pulls me to her. “Nurse. I need the nurse.”
I nod and once again rush out of the room. This time to actually find a nurse.
WHEN THE WORDS “You’re ready to push” come out of the doctor’s mouth, I grip the rail of Lake’s bed and have to hold myself upright. This is it. This is finally it and I’m not sure I’m ready. In the next few minutes I’m going to be a dad and the thought of it makes my head spin.
I am not Gavin.
I will not pass out.
The seconds turn into nanoseconds as the room fills with more nurses and they’re doing things to the bed and to the equipment and to Lake and to the lights that are really, really, really, bright and then a nurse is standing over me, looking down at me.
Why is she looking down at me?
“You okay?” she asks.
I nod. Why am I looking up at her?
I’ve either shrunk six feet or I’m on the floor.
“Will.” Lake’s hand is reaching over the side of the bed for me. I grip the rail and pull myself up. “Don’t do that again,” she breathes heavily. “Please. I need you to suck it up right now because I’m freaking out.” She’s looking at me with fear in her eyes.
“I’m right here,” I assure her. She smiles, but then her smile does this twisted thing where it flips upside down and turns into a mangled, demonic groan. My hand is being twisted worse than her voice, though.
I lean over the rail and wrap my arm around her shoulders, helping her lean forward when the nurse tells her to push. I keep my eyes focused on hers and she keeps her eyes focused on mine. I help her count and I help her breathe and I do my best not to complain about the fact that I’ll never be able to use my hand again. We’re counting to ten for what feels like the thousandth time when the twisted sounds begin coming out of her mouth again. Except this time the noises are followed by another sound.
Crying.
I look away from Lake and at the doctor, who is now holding a baby in his hands.
My baby.
Everything begins moving in fast motion again, but I’m frozen. I want so bad to pick her up and hold her but I also want to be next to Lake and ensure she’s okay. The nurse takes our baby out of the doctor’s hands and turns around to wrap her in a blanket. I’m craning my neck, trying to look over the nurse’s shoulder at her.
When the nurse finally has her wrapped up, she turns and walks to Lake, then lays her on her chest. I push the rail down on Lake’s bed and climb in beside her, sliding my arm beneath her shoulders. I pull the blanket away from our baby’s face so we can both see her better.
I wish I could explain how I feel, but nothing can explain this moment. Not a vase of stars. Not a book. Not a song. Not even a poem. Nothing can explain the moment when the woman you would give your life for sees her daughter for the very first time.
Tears are streaming down her face. She’s stroking our baby girl’s cheek, smiling.
Crying.
Laughing.
“I don’t want to count her fingers or toes,” Lake whispers. “I don’t care if she has two toes or three fingers or fifty feet. I love her so much, Will. She’s perfect.”
She is perfect. So perfect. “Just like her mom,” I say.
I lean my head against Lake’s and we just stare. We stare at the daughter who is so much more than I could have asked for. The daughter who is so much more than I dreamt of. So much more than I ever thought I would have. This girl. This baby girl is my life. Her mother is my life. These girls are both my life.
I reach down and pick up her hand. Her tiny fingers reflexively wrap around my pinky and I can’t choke back my tears any longer. “Hey, Julia. It’s me. It’s your daddy.”
my final piece
We’re born into the world
As just one small piece to the puzzle
That makes up an entire life.
It’s up to us throughout our years,
to find all of our pieces that fit.
The pieces that connect who we are
To who we were
To who we’ll one day be.
Sometimes pieces will almost fit.
They’ll feel right.
We’ll carry them around for a while,
Hoping they’ll change shape.
Hoping they’ll conform to our puzzle.
But they won’t.
We’ll eventually have to let them go.
To find the puzzle that is their home.
Sometimes pieces won’t fit at all.
No matter how much we want them to.
We’ll shove them.
We’ll bend them.
We’ll break them.
But what isn’t meant to be,
won’t be.
Those are the hardest pieces of all to accept.
The pieces of our puzzle
That just don’t belong.
But occasionally . . .
Not very often at all,
If we’re lucky,
If we pay enough attention,
We’ll find a
perfect match.
The pieces of the puzzle that slide right in
The pieces that hug the contours of our own pieces.
The pieces that lock to us.
The pieces that we lock to.
The pieces that fit so well, we can’t tell where our piece begins
And that piece ends.
Those pieces we call
Friends.
True loves.
Dreams.
Passions.
Beliefs.
Talents.
They’re all the pieces that complete our puzzles.
They line the edges,
Frame the corners,
Those pieces are the pieces that make us who we are.
Who we were.
Who we’ll one day be.
Up until today,
When I looked at my own puzzle,
I would see a finished piece.
I had the edges lined,
The corners framed,
The center filled.
It felt like it was complete.
All the pieces were therespan>.
I had everything I wanted.
Everything I needed.
Everything I dreamt of.
But up until today,
I realized I had collected all
but one piece.
The most vital piece.
The piece that completes the picture.
The piece that completes my whole life.
I held this girl in my arms
She wrapped her tiny fingers around mine.
It was then that I realized
She was the fusion.
The glue.
The cement that bound all my pieces together.
The piece that seals my puzzle.
The piece that completes my life.
The element that makes me who I am.
Who I was.
Who I’ll one day be.
You, baby girl.
You’re my final piece.