First Comes Love (29 page)

“I have no clue,” I say. “I barely know her. Maybe she wouldn't.”

“Well, if not, that would make her shallow. And I don't do shallow. So better to find out now.”

“I don't necessarily agree with that,” I say. “I'm not sure I'd want to be with a guy who is having a baby with another girl.”

“Well, then
you're
shallow,” he says with a smile. “And anyway, I really like Leslie…but she's not the deal breaker here.”

“Are you sure?” I say. “I thought you might be falling in love.”

“I might be,” he says. “But that's irrelevant. If we did this—it would be
our
decision. You and me. Together.”

I stare at him for a dizzying few seconds, trying to process everything. “So are you telling me that you actually
want
a baby?”

“No,” he says. “I never said that. But I don't
not
want a baby. And I want
you
to have a baby if that's what you want.”

“That's not very convincing,” I say.

“I'm not trying to convince you,” he says. “I'm just making an offer. Take it or leave it….”

I give him a hug, welling up a little, whispering that this might be the nicest thing anyone's ever offered to do for me.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, pulling away with a big yawn. I notice that his eyes stay open, a telltale sign that it's a
fake
yawn, and that he's merely looking for a transition, uncomfortable with my display of emotion. Sure enough, he announces that he's going back to bed, then turns and abruptly walks out of the kitchen.

“Good night, Gabe,” I call after him. “I fuckin'
love
you!”

“Love you, too, potty mouth,” he mumbles on his way up the stairs.

T
he Friday after Josie's birthday, on the afternoon I'm supposed to fly to New York, Harper has a meltdown that has absolutely nothing to do with me leaving—or her earlier realization that I will be missing trick-or-treating on Monday, a source of considerable maternal guilt. Instead, in a case of life imitating art, she has seemingly lost her beloved stuffed animal, just like the little girl in
Knuffle Bunny,
Harper's favorite Mo Willems book.

“Where did you last see it?” Nolan asks her—a question that has always mystified me, and seems especially ridiculous when posed to a hysterical four-year-old.

“I. Want. Raaaaa-bby!” she sobs in response.

“I know, sweetie,” I say, looking under the sofa, though I know he's too big to fit under it. “We'll find him. I promise.”

Nolan clears his throat and says, “Um. We probably shouldn't make any promises. If you get my drift.”

I look up at him, still on my knees, and my heart drops, considering that they just returned home from a father-daughter outing to Legoland.

“Nolan,” I say slowly. “Are you trying to tell me something here?”

“Maybe?” he says, his voice rising in a question, looking panic-stricken.

“Please, please, for the love of God, tell me that Harper did not take Rabby to Legoland,” I say, standing and looking directly into his eyes.

Nolan stares back at me, but he doesn't reply, as a wave of terror passes through me. I remind myself that I still have Harper, that there hasn't been a kidnapping, that we're talking about a stuffed animal, an inanimate object.

“I'm positive we had him in the car,” Nolan says, looking
anything
but positive.

“How positive?” I say.

“One hundred percent positive,” he says. “I remember seeing Rabby in the rearview mirror.”

For one second I'm relieved. Then I say, “Wait. On the way there? Or on the way home?”

Nolan scratches his head and shrugs. “
That
…I'm not sure about,” he says.

“Nolan!” I groan, pressing my hands to my forehead. “How many times have I told you not to let her take Rabby out of the house? You
know
it would be a disaster if he gets lost for good!”

“I didn't know she had him when we left,” he says.

I take a deep breath, my mind racing. “Did you call Legoland?” I say, as Harper's sobs begin to ramp up.

“Of
course,
” he says. “Multiple times. I've left two messages and also talked to some guy at the front desk.”

“And?”

“Nobody's turned it in yet.”

“So you
did
leave it there?”

“I don't know, Meredith,” he says, then blurts out an irrelevant fact. “I took her there so you could pack in peace….”

“So this is my fault?”

“I didn't say that….”

I turn away from him and say, “Harper, honey. C'mere, baby.”

“I want Raaaa-bbbyyy!” she wails, rubbing both fists into her eyes, her face coated with a mixture of snot and tears.

“I know, sweetie,” I say. “Daddy and I are doing our best to find him.”

She repeats that she wants Rabby, then adds that she misses Rabby very, very much.

“I know, baby,” I say, my stomach in knots, as I glance at my watch.

“What time's your flight?” Nolan asks for at least the third time today.

“Seven,” I say. “But obviously I'm not going now.”

“Why not?” Nolan says.

I ask him if he's serious, and he replies that yes, he is serious. “You being here won't change anything,” he adds.

I bite my lip, nod, and say, “That's
really
nice, Nolan. Thank you.”

“I mean in terms of the
damn
rabbit,” he says under his breath.

The phone rings before I can reply, and I make the mistake of glancing at caller ID and seeing Josie's name. Deciding it really can't get any worse, I answer the phone.

“Hi, Josie. We're kind of in the middle of a crisis here,” I say before she can speak.

“What's wrong?” she asks.

“We can't find Rabby.”

“Oh,” she says, clearly thinking that we've simply misplaced Rabby, as opposed to leaving him at
freakin' Legoland
.

I walk out of Harper's earshot, cupping the receiver as I fill Josie in. “On top of that,” I add, “I have a flight that leaves in a few hours….”

“Where are you going?” she asks.

“To New York.”

“For work?”

“No.”

“For what, then?”

I hesitate, wondering why I don't have this answer more prepared, then say, “I just need to get away for a few days.”

“A few days? So you'll miss Halloween?”

“Yes. But Harper's butterfly costume is ready to go…and besides, Nolan's always the one who takes her trick-or-treating. I just hand out candy. It's no big deal,” I say, still trying to convince myself of this fact.

“Huh. Okay….So are you going with Ellen?”

“No,” I say. “I'm going alone…but I don't know if I can go at all now….”

“Why? Because of Rabby?” she says.

“Correct,” I say, glaring at Nolan. “Because of Rabby.”

“Do you want me to come over?”

“Why?” I blurt out, instantly regretting it.

“Never mind,” she says.

“I'm sorry,” I say. “When I said ‘why'—I just meant, are you coming to look for Rabby? Because I don't think we're going to find him….”

“I just meant to come be with Harper. So you can go…while I distract her.”

I hesitate, not because I don't desperately want to take her up on the offer, but because it's difficult to admit that we need her. That I need her. My concern for Harper trumps this, though, and I say, “That would be great, actually….”

“Okay,” she says briskly. “I'm almost home. I just need to let Revis out….I can be there in forty-five minutes? Does that work?”

“Yes. Thank you,” I say. “I'll let Nolan know.”

“All right,” she says. Then, after a long pause, she makes an even greater offer. “I can stay over tonight, too…if Nolan wants? I can be her Rabby substitute?”

I almost say that there is no substitute for Rabby, but Aunt Josie might be the lone exception to that. “Could you really do that?” I say, swallowing the rest of my pride. “That would be amazing. Thank you, Josie.”

M
Y FLIGHT LANDS
at La Guardia just after 10:00
P.M
. I power on my phone as soon as we hit the runway, checking my texts, praying for good news on the Rabby front. Nothing, I discover. No word at all from Atlanta, other than a text from Ellen wishing me a good trip and telling me to call her if I have any questions about her apartment. I thank her, then send Josie and Nolan a joint text asking about Rabby.
Still MIA? How's Harper?

Thirty minutes later, after I've retrieved my suitcase and joined a blessedly short cab line just outside of baggage claim, I have yet to receive a response from either of them. I assume the worst, but tell myself that there is nothing I can do. So I put my phone in my tote bag, close my eyes, and inhale the glorious scent of Queens—a mix of exhaust and garbage and falafels.

Suddenly, I'm overcome with exhaustion, and all I want to do is sleep. I remind myself that I can do just that. I can sleep
all
day tomorrow. I can sleep for the next week. For the first time since Harper's birth, I have absolutely no responsibilities, at least not in an hour-to-hour sense. Yet, as I get into my cab and give my driver Ellen's address on East Tenth Street, I realize it's not as simple as sleep or freedom, and as the billboards and buildings whiz by me, I feel about as lost as poor Rabby, wherever he may be.

M
eredith calls my cell the following morning while I'm still curled up with Harper in her twin bed.

“Did you find Rabby?” she demands before even saying hello.

“No,” I whisper, rolling over toward the wall and keeping my voice low, though Harper could sleep through an air raid. “Not yet.”

“Shhit,”
Meredith sighs. “How's she doing?”

“She's fine. Still asleep. I'm here with her now….”

“In her bed?”

“Yes.”

“Did she kick you all night?”

I laugh and say it wasn't too bad.

“Where's Nolan?”

“I don't know….I haven't gotten up yet.”

There is a long pause before she says, “I texted you both last night. Did you not get the message?”

“Harper and I went to bed early,” I say. “Nolan went out.”

“Oh,” she says, sounding surprised. “Where'd he go?”

“I don't know. I didn't ask….” I hesitate, then ask as gently as I can, “Is everything okay with you and Nolan?”

“Yes,” she says. “We're fine.”

Her terse retort, combined with Nolan's rare moodiness last night, only adds to my suspicion that some sort of trouble is brewing. But I know how private and guarded Meredith is about her marriage—and that it's pointless to press her on something she doesn't want to talk about. So I change the subject. “I bet Rabby'll show up today. But just in case…I did go ahead and order another one.”

“Another
Rabby
?” she asks.

I tell her yes, that I recalled the Jellycat tag, and after a quick Google image search, located the same beige bunny on Nordstrom's website. “I'm having it overnighted,” I say.

“But she'll
totally
know the difference,” Meredith says. “Remember how Mom tried to replace Bongo?”

I smile, thinking of the completely random name I gave our blue-and-yellow betta fish. “Yeah. That didn't fly.”

“It sure didn't,” she says. “And Harper's savvier than we were….”

“I know,” I say. “But I figured it was worth a try. I was thinking I could let Revis play with it for a few days…roll it in the mud…throw it in the dryer on a high setting….”

“She'd still know,” Meredith says with a sigh.

“Yeah. I guess you're right,” I say, wishing she'd at least give me a little credit for the idea and effort. For the fact that I'm here in bed with her daughter. “So what are you up to today?”

“I'm not sure yet,” she says. “What about you?”

I tell her I'm not sure, either, but that I planned to spend it with Harper. “If that's okay with you?”

“Of course it's okay,” she says, her voice softening a little. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” I say. “And, Mere?”

“Yeah?”

I hesitate, searching for the right words. “Please let me know if you want to talk…about anything.”

“Thank you,” she says again. “I really appreciate that, Josie.”

L
ATER THAT DAY,
after Harper has broken down over Rabby about three times (fortunately never on the phone with Meredith), Nolan walks in the family room, where I'm folding laundry, and asks how I'd feel about visiting Daniel.

“You mean at the cemetery?”

It's a stupid question—where else would we visit Daniel?—but Nolan is gentle with his response. “Yes….I was going to take Harper….I'd love for you to come, too. Will you, please?”

I look at him, so surprised by the directness of his request that I find myself reluctantly nodding. “Okay,” I say, my heart filling with dread.

A
FEW HOURS
later, despite my multiple attempts to divert us, Nolan, Harper, and I slow to a stop along the circular drive of Arlington Memorial Park. Our three car doors open, then close, in rapid succession, echoing in the serenity of the scenic cemetery. My stomach clenches as I steel myself against an onslaught of memories from December 26, 2001, the last time I was here. They come anyway, of course. The biting cold. The sensation of my heels sinking into the wet earth. The gaping red-clay hole in the ground. That solitary bluebird in the barren oak tree overlooking my brother's coffin.

We walk in silent single file toward Daniel's grave, Nolan leading the way, Harper between us. She is holding a bouquet of flowers. I have a lousy sense of direction, but I could find this spot without any assistance, that old oak giving me my bearings. Sure enough, I spot my brother's name, his headstone in the partial shade of the tree. A few leaves have fallen on his plot, and I watch Nolan brush them aside. Meanwhile, I stand awkwardly to one side, clueless about cemetery etiquette, but feeling certain that you're not supposed to stand directly over a grave.

The sun has been in and out all day, but the sky is overcast now, a slight chill in the air. I shiver, then zip my fleece up the whole way, hugging my arms across my chest before I force myself to look down at my brother's headstone. The flat gray granite marker bears his full name, the dates of his birth and his accident. Below that is the engraving of a cross and the words my mother came up with sitting in the kitchen with my dad and our pastor.
Beloved son, brother, friend
.

I remember thinking that the epitaph was too simple. That it left a lot of things out—
grandson, nephew, cousin, boyfriend,
to name a few. I very nearly pointed this out, in a burst of what felt like post-traumatic stress Tourette's, but managed to restrain myself. Instead, I went up to my room, where I pretty much remained until the funeral, out of everyone's way.

Nolan clears his throat now and says in a low, soothing voice, “Harper, honey, do you want to put the flowers down?” He points to the base of the headstone.

Looking over-the-top solemn, like a child actress in a funeral scene, she nods and kneels, slowly lowering the bouquet to the ground. A mix of carnations and roses, the Publix flowers look cheap, borderline garish, the green cellophane wrapper and flimsy rubber band not helping matters. If Meredith were with us, it would be different: the flowers would have been purchased at a fancy florist, and Harper would be wearing a dress, not a stained T-shirt. The biggest difference, though, is that I would not be here—the burden of her expectations too great for me to bear.

“Good job, sweetie,” Nolan whispers, kneeling down beside her, then carefully angling the blossoms toward the stone. “Do you want to pray?”

Clearly accustomed to the drill, Harper presses her palms together, scrunches her eyes closed, and says, “God bless Uncle Daniel.”

“God bless Uncle Daniel,” Nolan echoes.

Although I often think of my brother's unborn children, I have never really considered the loss from my niece's perspective. I put it on my long mental list of things to feel sad about later. But for now, I do my best to stay as numb as possible.

Meanwhile, Nolan says the Lord's Prayer—which I find oddly formal or at least old-fashioned. I know I should say it along with him, but do not. I don't even close my eyes, which remarkably Harper does for the entire prayer, right down to his
Amen
. Then she says it, too, a long drawn out
Ahhh
-men.

Afterward, they both stand, and Harper wanders off, a carefree child again. Nolan's arm wraps me in a quick but tight, sideways embrace.

“Are you okay?”

Realizing that I've been holding my breath, I exhale and tell him yes, I'm fine.

“When's the last time you've been back here?” he asks, as I wonder if he knows the answer.

A breeze blows my hair into my eyes. I corral the strands behind my ear before confessing. “I haven't,” I say.

“Not
ever
?”

“No. Not since the day he was buried,” I say, feeling ashamed.

“Oh,” he says, his lips remaining parted.

“You think that's awful, don't you?”

Finally closing his mouth, he shakes his head. “No,” he says, though I'm not sure I believe him.

“I just don't think he's here. In the ground,” I stammer. It's the excuse I always give when I'm justifying the decision not to visit my brother—whether to myself or to my mother and sister.

Reliably kind, Nolan nods and says he understands.

I squint up at the sky and say, “I like to think of him up there.”

He follows my gaze and nods again. “I know what you mean…but I still feel him more strongly when we come here….They say a portion of the soul is always present at the grave site….”

I nod, listening to the sound of silence, then realizing that it's not silent at all. Leaves rustle in the breeze. A dog barks in the distance. A car engine turns over. Meanwhile, I feel Nolan looking at me, and know that he expects a reply.

“To each his own,” I finally say, worrying that I might sound flippant. Meredith would definitely hear it that way.

But Nolan isn't Meredith, fortunately, and only murmurs his agreement. “Yes, everyone is different about these things…but you definitely do believe he's
somewhere,
right?” His brow furrowed, he looks directly into my eyes.

I hesitate, thinking that sometimes I do, but sometimes I do not. “I don't know,” I finally say.

He looks at me, aghast. “But, Josie…you
have
to,” he says. “Otherwise…”

“Otherwise what?” I retort.

“Otherwise, how do you make sense of it?”

“I
don't
make sense of it,” I say under my breath, thinking that more than anything, I hate that notion of “God's plan.”

Before I can say more, his phone rings, saving me. He pulls it out of his front pocket, glancing at the screen. I think we both expect it to be Meredith—at least I do. But he holds it up, showing me an unprogrammed 404 number. Mumbling that he has no idea who it is, he answers it anyway.

“Hello?” he says, his voice as anxious as I feel.

I hear a woman's high voice droning and assume it's a telemarketer. Until Nolan begins to grin.

Watching him smile is like watching the sun come out,
I remember my mother once saying, before Daniel died, back when she used to make such poetic observations. It was and still is true.

“That's awesome! Thank
you,
” he says excitedly. “We'll be right there! Thank you so
much
.”

He hangs up, slides his phone back into his pocket, and looks up with tears in his eyes. “Harper, sweetheart! Guess what?”

“What?” she yells back, shielding her eyes with her hand.

“They found Rabby! He's safe and sound at Legoland!” Nolan shouts to both of us.

As Harper cheers and sprints toward us, Nolan beams, giving me an I-told-you-so look. “See?” he says.

“See what?” I reply, though I know what he's thinking because I've heard him say it many times before. Something about Daniel being Harper's guardian angel. Something about him looking out for all of us.

As if “God's plan” would ever, in a billion years, include taking a young man but saving a stuffed rabbit.

L
ATER THAT NIGHT,
after I've rather easily put Harper to bed (with Rabby's assistance), I come downstairs to find Nolan eating the remains of Harper's macaroni and cheese directly from the pot with a big wooden spoon. He gives me a sheepish smile, wiping his mouth with his hand.

I smile back at him and say, “Don't worry. I do it, too. Why is food always better when you eat it right off the stove?”

“I don't know, but it really is,” he says, taking one last bite. “Are you hungry? We could throw in a pizza or order something?”

“No, not really,” I say. “I was actually gonna take off….”

“Right now?” he says, looking disappointed. “Do you have plans?”