So Much More (38 page)

“How old were you when I was born?” I ask.

“Seventeen,” she answers matter-of-factly.

I nod. She was young and obviously incapable of caring for a child. No wonder her mother intervened and I was given up for adoption. “What about my father? Who is he?”

Her eyes go dead for a few seconds before she stares off into space. I don’t think she’s going to answer. And then she does. “His name was Dan. I met him at school. He called me pretty. He was my boyfriend.”

“Where is he now? Do you know?” I have a feeling asking this question is a long shot, and to be honest I don’t care, hearing Hope’s story is enough.

She shrugs. “Don’t know. He had to move away after I told him I was pregnant. His mama needed him.” She doesn’t seem sad, more nostalgic. Like she’s thinking of someone she hasn’t thought about in a very long time.

“How did you know, Hope? That I was your baby? You only saw me for a few minutes, and that was twenty-two years ago.”

She squeezes my hand. “Remember what Seamus said this morning about meeting his babies for the first time and them imprinting on his soul?” She shrugs. “It’s true. I knew when you knocked on my door that first time and gave me a pineapple, who you were.”

I’m stunned and in awe, searching Hope’s face in a whole new light. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You have a family. You’re theirs. I didn’t think it was allowed like Mama said.” She truly believes it.

I hug her. “It’s allowed. And they’re not my family anymore.”

She pulls back from the hug and looks surprised. “They’re not?”

I shake my head. “No. You are.”

I’m gifted with one of Hope’s rare smiles and for the first time in twenty-two years, I feel complete. Satisfied. I know many would be skeptical, question it, dig deeper. But in my heart, the search is over and this part of my research is done. I found my mom. Or she found me.

When we return to the waiting room, it’s empty. The nurse tells us Kai has been moved to a room on the telemetry floor.

I peer in from the hall, with Hope by my side, and see everyone clustered around Kai’s bed. Seamus sees me and waves both of us in.

I apologize quietly for disturbing their family time. Kai is sleeping. He’s hooked up to various machines and monitors, and an IV drip is administering painkillers. My entire being aches for this little boy.

Seamus is rubbing my back as he takes in my expression. “He’ll make a full recovery. He just needs some time,” he whispers in my ear. I hear the lack of worry in his voice, and I know it’s true.

Still, I can’t take my eyes off him lying in the bed, so helpless. “Thank God,” I whisper back.

“Everything okay with Hope? You were gone a long time.” It’s still his soothing whisper in my ear.

I turn my head, look him in the eye, and the overwhelming realization that I just got my miracle hits me. It hits me so hard it fills my eyes and takes away my words. I nod instead.

He puts his arm around me and kisses the side of my head. “Good.”

I look back at Kai. “We’d better get going, Seamus, so you can take care of Kai.” And then back to Seamus. “I’m glad they moved him to this room, that’s a good sign.”

Seamus walks out of the room with Hope and me. Hope keeps walking toward the elevator where she stops and waits for me.

When I look up at Seamus, his eyes are fixed on mine. He’s looking at me like there are a thousand and one things he wants to say. He starts with, “Can I hug you?”

I wrap my arms around him and for a solid minute, our bodies talk. There are apologies. And questions. And answers. And promises.

When we release each other, he smiles. It’s tired, but it’s mine. “Please tell me you felt that?”

I nod. I did.

He inhales deeply and lets it all out, smile still in place. “Good. Because, holy shit, I’ve missed you.”

I want to kiss him so badly, but it’s so inappropriate given the time and place.
 

“Would you want to…I don’t know…maybe after Kai is released and things get back to normal, we could…” He stops talking, covers his eyes with his hand, and laughs. “Jesus Christ, I suck at this. It’s been a long time since I tried to ask someone out.”

That giddy feeling rises in me, the one I’ve only ever felt when I’m around Seamus, and it makes my smile impossible to hide. “Yes. Please.”

He bookends my cheeks with his hands and kisses me softly, just a peck, but I feel it all the way down to my toes. And then he rests his forehead against mine. “Thank you.”

“I’ll have to give you my home phone number, I don’t have a cell.”

“Good idea.”

We walk to the information desk and trade phone numbers. “Just leave a message on the answering machine. It’s kind of a community phone set up where I live, but it works. I’ll get the message.”

He nods. “Sounds good. I’ll talk to you soon. Thanks for coming to check on Kai. And me.”

I nod.
 

And I leave the hospital with my mom.

And a grateful heart that’s bursting with love.

Sometimes, it isn’t that hard

present

There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s Benito with a cup of coffee.

“Hi.” He hands it over with a smile. His other hand that usually holds his cup is empty. “I’m headed to work, but I thought you could use this.”

“Headed to work? It’s late.” He never works on Sunday nights, he usually goes to mass at the Catholic Church down the street.

He shrugs. “Miranda will be out for a while with Kai, there are things that need to be tended to in her absence. We’re all a team and family always comes first. It’s no trouble at all.”

Of course it’s not. It’s Benito. He helps everyone. I nod to the coffee in my hand. “Thanks for this.”

“You’re welcome, my dear. Well, I just wanted to say hello and make sure you’re doing well.”

I smile. “I’m good. Really good. Thanks.”

He nods his fatherly nod. “Excellent. I’d better get going.” He walks to the stairs and stops like he so often does. “Faith?”

I take a sip of my coffee. “Yeah?”

“He knows,” he says wisely.

I tilt my head and wait for him to continue.

“He knows what an unbelievably beautiful circumstance he could be in with you,” he adds with a smile.

I smile remembering our discussion from weeks ago and quote him in return, “Sometimes, it isn’t that hard.”

He winks and disappears up the stairs.

Life blooms in second chances

present

Kai was released from the hospital last week. He’s confined to a wheelchair for the next two weeks due to the cast on his leg, after which he can use crutches. He’s not happy about that, but it doesn’t stop him from getting outside with his basketball and shooting some hoops every afternoon. I thought the stairs at the apartment would be an obstacle, since I can’t carry him, but he navigates up and down them from a sitting position on his butt faster than I can on my feet. The kid is unstoppable. And other than some wicked scarring on his abdomen and legs, and special dietary concerns, he’s back to normal. It’s amazing how resilient kids are.

Miranda was cleared of any wrongdoing in the accident, and though I was urged by outsiders to take back full custody, I couldn’t do it. Because not only was it an accident, it was also a wake-up call for her. Miranda has been a loving parent lately, I won’t take that from my kids because of an accident. She’s finally trying. My kids need that. They deserve it. We signed the revised custody arrangement this week, it was a long time officially coming—the kids spend the school week with me and weekends with Miranda as planned. Everyone’s happy.
 

The kids are with Miranda this weekend. It’s the first time they’ve been out of my sight, and I’ve been alone, for a few weeks. Which means I made good on my promise and invited Faith out on a date.

The sand is warm under my palms and coarse between my fingers. I’m sitting on the beach, resting back on my hands, watching Faith walk out into the water and thinking about all the different ways there are to be attracted to someone. She’s wearing a simple, ivory, cotton sundress, holding the bottom in her hands mid-thigh to keep it from getting wet. The bright colors have been erased from her dreadlocks, and though I loved it because it was bold like her, the white blond that remains is transcendent. She glows like she’s illuminated from within, her personality shining through like rays of sunshine and fire.

When she returns to me, she reaches down and spreads my legs at the ankles. Then she sits down between my legs facing me, her legs bent, inner calves brushing my sides, dress pooled around us providing cover.

“I know I told you this before, but my heart really likes your heart, Seamus.” The way she says it pinches and twists, heartfelt tainted by heartache, and she drops her chin.
 

“Hey.” I tip her eyes up to meet mine, and I ask softly, “What’s going on?”

“Every day when I wake up, I remind myself that the present is possibility, and the past is a lesson.” It sounds like a fragile confession that I want to hold in my hands and protect from the world.

I run my fingertip across the writing on her collarbone peeking out from beneath her dress and pull the strap down her shoulder to read it,
Life blooms in second chances
. “Is that what this is about? Possibility and lessons?”

She nods.

“It’s good advice,” I whisper before I kiss the script.

She’s nodding when I pull back and look at her. I watch her eyes scan my face, pausing on my mouth, before locking her gaze with mine again. “I love the way you look at me, Seamus. No one’s ever looked at me like you do. Your eyes speak to me. When I say something funny, your eyes laugh before your mouth does. When I need encouragement, your eyes tell me I’m good enough. When I’m scared, your eyes hold me. And when you’re about to kiss me, your eyes undress my thoughts.” She pauses and looks away before her eyes dance back to mine. “I don’t want any of that to change.”

“It won’t,” I promise her with words while I hold her in a stare.

She’s not convinced. There’s a look resonating in her eyes, but every few seconds it changes slightly or mixes with another emotion. There’s lust and pain and fear and shame.

“Faith.” I never knew one word could hold so much hope, but her name does. I can’t explain it, but I feel like my future depends on it. My sanity depends on it. My heart depends on it. “Please talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

She pinches her lips together painfully until their rosy shade blanches the color away and she shakes her head. “Not this, Seamus. My past is hideous. I made bad choices and bad things happened.”

“Everyone makes bad choices. You don’t think I’ve made bad choices? Jesus, I was married to a bad choice for twelve years. Enough said. I hold an advanced degree in bad choices and oversight.” I’m calmly pleading with her. “Close your eyes,” I say as I close mine.

“Why?” she questions.

“I’m turning off my judgment and your filter,” I’m whispering. “Are they closed?” I ask from behind closed lids.
 

“Yes.” Her voice.
That voice
. So close. So trusting. So soft in the darkness.

“Tell me anything. Tell me everything. I want all of you.” I do. So much.

I’m met with drawn out silence, but it’s not threatening. I can feel her resolve building and apprehension fading in front of me.

“How about we both share?” I coax. “You tell me about your past, and I’ll tell you how I feel about you.”

“Do I want to hear it?” I feel her warm words on my face, there’s a faint glimmer of a smile in them.

I’m nodding, even though she can’t see me. “Probably not as much as I need to say it.”
 

She begins and if it’s possible her voice is even softer and raises goosebumps on my arms. “I was raised in foster care. You already knew that. The last family took me in at sixteen. I left when I was almost eighteen.” She pauses. “Your turn.”

I don’t know if my heart can take the story she’s about to unfold in the air around us, but I wait because that’s all that my life is at this moment, words suspended in darkness. Words I’m determined to make count. “My life is easier when you’re in it,” I offer, “and harder when you’re not. Your presence eases a tension inside me that I’ve carried all my life. You make me hurt less, physically everything’s more tolerable when you’re near.”