On a magical, snowy day in March, two months after Calder got his social security card in the name, Calder Raynes, we went down to the courthouse and vowed forever to each other. It felt like a mere formality. It felt like a miracle. It felt like destiny.
Later that night as we snuggled in bed, Calder said sleepily, "I guess I became Calder twice in my life." I turned toward him and studied the planes and angles of his face in the moonlight streaming through our window. "Once when I was three," he said, "and now again at twenty-three."
I thought about it for a minute. "Yes, and you did it beautifully both times," I said.
His deep eyes gazed at me in the dim light, seeming to speak a thousand words. He pulled me close and held me tightly in his arms.
When the springtime came, my mom helped me plant a container garden on the small deck off the back of our house and she poured over baby magazines with me, helping me put together a neutral nursery in creamy yellow and crisp white. I sat in there at night rocking in the overstuffed glider and dreaming of our baby's deep brown eyes and gentle smile.
Just as I knew she would, my mother grew to love Calder with all her heart once she allowed herself to see him for who he was, no longer seeing him as a competitor. And he loved her back, fully and completely. My heart felt full with the knowledge that we both got the mother we so desperately needed. Each Sunday night, she hosted dinner at her home where Calder and I, Xander and Nikki, and Molly and Bentley gathered. Her home was filled with laughter, love, and more children than she ever bargained for. She came alive. Molly told me she'd never seen Carolyn looking so content and carefree. It made my heart so very, very glad.
When the weather turned warm and the roses were all in bloom, my mom and Marissa, together, threw me a baby shower that was ridiculously fancy and obscenely overdone. I loved every minute of it.
Calder had two gallery showings that summer, the first showcasing gorgeous canvases of birds and rainstorms and church windows—all sorts of things he'd never painted before. The second was my favorite, though, a series of people who had lived at Acadia: Mother Willa's ageless eyes, Myles sitting on his mother's lap in Temple, sucking his thumb, Maya's pure and joyful smile. It was a beautiful remembrance. Calder wasn't at the point yet where he could paint his parents or Hector. Maybe he never would be. And either way, it was okay. Both showings sold out in an hour.
We splurged on a baby grand piano for our front room and I taught lessons there on Mondays and Wednesdays.
We both talked about getting our GEDs and going back to school. We'd studied together once, to do it again felt right. But that would wait until after the baby came.
My husband planted a small morning glory bush at the edge of our garden and when it bloomed, he'd leave flowers for me in places I didn't expect. I always had one in water on my windowsill and it brought me joy.
And I slipped butterscotch candies into his pockets and under his pillow.
On a balmy day in early July, my water broke as Calder and I took an evening stroll around our neighborhood. He rushed me to the hospital and I delivered our son five hours later. We named him John Grant. Grant after Felix who had saved my life once upon a time, and John, which means God is Merciful. And as our beautiful boy blinked up at us, the fragrance of heaven still on his newborn skin, we believed it with all our hearts.
As I woke up late that night, drowsy from sleep, I saw Calder in the corner, standing and swaying with our son in that universal baby sway. "Hey, Jack," Calder whispered, using the nickname we'd agreed we'd call him. "I'm your dad. I'm going to do my very best to be a really good one." He hummed some nameless tune for a minute until Jack was still again. "I'm sure I'll mess up now and again. I'll probably give you way too many sweets because I like them, too, and I'll probably make you roll your eyes because I'll kiss your mom in front of you a whole lot." Jack let out a small, dissatisfied squeak and I almost laughed, but I didn't want to disturb the moment so bit my lip instead. "I know," Calder crooned, "it's going to be so gross." He swayed quietly for a few minutes. "I won't always be able to protect you from the world. But I'm going to do my very best. And when I can't, what I can promise you, buddy, is that I'll always be there to help you through it. And I will never, ever be the one to hurt you. Okay? And I'll always, always nurture your dreams. The rest . . . well, we'll figure out, all right?" Jack was quiet, lulled into dreams filled with milk and warmth and love, nestled in the safety of his father's arms.
EPILOGUE
Calder
My eyes focused on the place where the mountains collided with the sky as we turned down the dirt road, dust filling the air outside the windows of our rented minivan.