Chapter 18 - THE NIGHT THE BABY CAME
Luke planned to arrive Saturday.
The baby chose Friday.
At 1:42 in the morning, Celia woke Abram.
“My water broke.”
Abram sat upright so quickly he hit his shoulder against the headboard.
“What?”
Celia stared at him.
“I am reasonably sure you heard me.”
He jumped out of bed.
“Bag.”
“By the door.”
“Phone.”
“In your hand.”
“Car keys.”
“Kitchen.”
Celia breathed through a contraction.
“Abram.”
He stopped.
“Yes?”
“Shoes.”
He looked down.
Barefoot.
For the first time in months, Celia laughed.
Twenty minutes later, they were driving toward the hospital.
Rain struck the windshield.
Abram hated the rain now.
It reminded him of the shed.
Celia noticed his hands tightening around the wheel.
“Different night.”
He looked toward her.
“Different rain.”
Another contraction came.
She closed her eyes.
Abram focused on the road.
At 4:18 a.m., Celia was admitted.
At 6:02, labor intensified.
At 7:40, Dana arrived.
Felix followed carrying coffee.
Margaret came thirty minutes later.
Then Morgan unexpectedly appeared.
Abram met her outside the delivery room.
“What happened?”
“There was an incident at the detention facility.”
His heart jumped.
“Doreen?”
“She’s alive.”
“What incident?”
“She attacked another inmate.”
Abram stared.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because during the confrontation, she said something.”
“What?”
Morgan hesitated.
“She said, ‘I should have finished Celia when I had the chance.’”
Abram’s face hardened.
Morgan raised a hand.
“It strengthens the case.”
“I don’t care about the case right now.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because she also named a location.”
Abram waited.
“Another storage unit.”
“Where?”
“Near the airport.”
“What’s inside?”
“She said, ‘The last thing Elias hid from Abram.’”
Abram almost laughed.
“I’m not going.”
Morgan looked surprised.
“I’m staying with my wife.”
Then Morgan smiled faintly.
“Good.”
Abram looked at her.
“You expected me to run after another secret.”
“Three months ago, you would have.”
“Yes.”
“Your father’s letter worked.”
Abram looked toward the delivery room.
Protect your wife.
Protect your child.
Tell the truth.
Then go live.
Morgan left.
At 9:13 a.m., Celia screamed Abram’s name.
At 9:21, their daughter entered the world.
Seven pounds.
One ounce.
Dark hair.
Strong lungs.
Furious expression.
Abram cried before Celia did.
The nurse placed the baby against Celia’s chest.
Celia looked down.
“Hi.”
Abram kissed Celia’s forehead.
Their daughter opened one eye.
Abram laughed.
Celia looked at him.
“June.”
He nodded.
June Elias Mercer.
A first name Celia loved.
A middle name for the grandfather who finally tried to tell the truth.
At noon, Felix entered.
He stood near the doorway.
Celia smiled.
“You can come closer.”
Felix approached the bassinet.
His face crumpled.
“She’s tiny.”
Dana rolled her eyes.
“She’s a newborn.”
“I know.”
Felix touched one finger to June’s hand.
June gripped it.
Felix began crying.
Again.
Dana whispered.
“You have become extremely emotional lately.”
Felix laughed.
“I have seven years to catch up on.”
That afternoon, Luke arrived.
Abram saw him through the hospital-room window.
Tall.
Brown hair.
Broad shoulders.
Twenty years old.
He looked disturbingly familiar.
Celia saw Abram freeze.
“That him?”
Abram nodded.
“You want me here?”
“Yes.”
“No hesitation?”
“No.”
Celia smiled.
“Then open the door.”
Abram stepped into the hallway.
Luke stood beside Rachel.
For several seconds, father and son looked at each other.
Abram had imagined what he might say.
I’m sorry.
I didn’t know.
I wish I had been there.
All of it felt too small.
Luke spoke first.
“You look older than Grandpa Elias did in the picture.”
Abram laughed suddenly.
“Good start.”
Luke smiled nervously.
Rachel stepped away.
“I’ll give you two a minute.”
Abram looked at Luke.
“I don’t expect anything.”
Luke nodded.
“I know.”
“I don’t expect you to call me Dad.”
“Good.”
Abram smiled.
Luke looked toward Celia’s room.
“Is that my sister?”
The word nearly knocked Abram backward.
“Yes.”
“Can I see her?”
Abram’s eyes filled.
“Absolutely.”
Luke met Celia.
He held June awkwardly.
Celia corrected his arm.
“Support her head.”
“I am.”
“You absolutely are not.”
Luke adjusted.
June opened her eyes.
Luke stared.
“She looks angry.”
Abram laughed.
“She’s related to us.”
For two hours, the hospital room became something Abram had not experienced in months.
Normal.
Not perfectly normal.
Not repaired.
But alive.
Then Morgan called.
Abram almost ignored it.
Celia nodded.
“Answer.”
He stepped into the hallway.
“What?”
“We opened the storage unit.”
“And?”
“Mostly personal effects.”
“Whose?”
“Yours.”
Abram frowned.
“My mother kept your childhood records.”
“School reports.”
“Medical files.”
“Old letters.”
“Photographs.”
“Things parents keep.”
Abram felt something strange.
Sadness.
Morgan continued.
“But there was one envelope from Elias.”
“Another one.”
“Yes.”
“What does it say?”
“It isn’t addressed to you.”
“To who?”
Morgan paused.
“Doreen.”
Abram closed his eyes.
“Read it.”
Morgan hesitated.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
She read.
Doreen,
I know you believe everything you did was love.
Maybe that is what makes it worse.
Love does not require fear.
Love does not erase people.
Love does not need locked doors.
If you ever understand that, tell our sons I am sorry I helped you teach them otherwise.
If you never understand it, I hope they do.
Morgan stopped.
Abram looked through the hospital window.
Celia was laughing at something Luke said.
Felix stood beside the bassinet.
Margaret held a cup of coffee.
Dana adjusted June’s blanket.
A family.
Messy.
Late.
Damaged.
But present.
Abram whispered.
“We do.”
Morgan answered.
“What?”
May you like
“We understand.”
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