“Yes,” I say breathlessly.
As she positions the wand just so, searching for the right spot, I hold my breath, waiting.
I hear galloping horses, thunder across the sky, and I know the meaning of the word joy. It floods my entire being as tears streak down my face. “That’s amazing,” I whisper, as if we’re in church.
I feel as if I’m in the presence of something holy. Something greater than I’ve ever experienced before.
New life.
The smile that spreads across my face is like wings, and I’m soaring with happiness.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” the doctor asks.
“The best music ever.”
We listen for a few more seconds, the heartbeat the only noise in the otherwise quiet exam room. It’s the only sound in my entire world.
I wish Ryder were here to share this moment with me.
“You can record the sound on your phone if you want to play it later,” she offers.
For a moment, I’m tempted to take her up on it. But I shake my head. I’ve no idea if Ryder would even want to hear the heartbeat, and for me, I want to just live in this moment, not on my phone.
“That’s okay,” I say, shaking my head. “I like experiencing it live better.”
The doctor continues her travels over my belly, away from the heart, checking everything else one more time.
As I lie here, I think of the man who made this happen—his kindness, his goodness, his humor. I swallow back another round of tears and try to shove away these scary new impulses.
It’s wishful thinking to long for him to be a part of this phase. He didn’t sign up for this role. He didn’t ask to be by my side. He gave me the part of him I needed most.
Just because I might want more right now doesn’t mean I can expect it.
Later, when I go home, I let myself linger once more on that wild idea of Ryder sharing this with me. Then I dismiss it, because the sky fills with dark clouds, as if agreeing with me that nothing good can come of it.
Twenty-Eight
Ryder
I see it from one hundred feet away.
Adrenaline takes over as Simone crashes on the slope, a hot pink blur tumbling around the curve in the run.
Jamming my poles into the packed snow, I ski as quickly as I can to her, stopping abruptly and bending to offer a hand. “You okay, sweetie?”
She winces but nods bravely. “Just a crash. I’m fine.”
I breathe a huge sigh of relief. “Are you sure?”
She looks at me, and even with the ski goggles on, I can see her brown eyes twinkle. She laughs. “I fell on my butt, and you’re freaking out.”
I am.
She’s right.
I’m completely freaking out.
I huff and act indignant, going with it. “Oh, that’s nice. Make fun of the caring, considerate uncle.”
“It’s cute. You’re sweet,” she says and takes my hand as I yank her up. “I’m totally fine. Falling is normal.”
“It still worries me when I see you do it, especially since you’re my responsibility.”
Devon and Paul are racing the black diamonds today, so Simone and I have tackled the easy to medium runs. She’s a snowboarder, and I prefer to kick it old-school on skis. This is our ski weekend trip over the Martin Luther King Jr. holiday. We already skied during Christmas and had an absolute blast.
In the last few weeks, I’ve spent more time with Simone and Devon on the weekends than usual, grabbing any chance I can to join them for ski trips, movies, and dinners out. I was so damn occupied in the fall that if I don’t keep busy now, I’ll be like one of those lonely lions in a cage at the zoo, pacing back and forth all day long.
Simone pretends to whisper, “Since I’m your responsibility, do you want to sneak off and get a hot chocolate?”
“I love the way you think. But let’s make it down the hill first.”
She nods, as she readjusts herself on her board. “Race ya.”
She pushes off, shushing down the slope with ease, and I follow as I’ve done the whole day, watching as I go. I don’t let her out of my sight. Lately, I’ve felt even more protective of her. Every time something might happen to her, my heart feels as if it’s beating outside my body. The other day when I walked her to art class in the city, I kept her even closer to my side when we neared the crosswalk. That’s just smart in New York, of course. But I was like a fucking hawk the way I kept my eye on her.
That evening after the day on the slopes, my brother and I hang in the lodge while Paul and Simone get ready for dinner back in the cabin.
Devon lifts his glass of Scotch and takes a drink as we lounge in big wooden chairs by a roaring fire. “I’ve been meaning to tell you about a woman we chatted with while skiing.”